On this Saturday night he had stepped into the clubhouse with more
than his usual briskness. Sweeping a comprehensive glance around
as he entered, as if looking for some one in the hall, he slipped
off his overcoat and hat and handed both to the negro servant in
charge of the cloak-room.
"George."
"Yes, Mr. Grayson."
"If anybody inquires for me you will find me either on this floor
or in the library above. Don't forget, and don't make any mistake.
"No, suh--ain't goin' to be no mistake."
This done, the old gentleman moved to the mirror, and gave a
sidelong glance at his perfectly appointed person--he had been
dining at the Portmans', had left the table early, and was in full
evening dress.
The inspection proved that the points of his collar wanted
straightening the thousandth part of an inch, and that his sparse
gray locks needed combing a wee bit further toward his cheek
bones. These, with a certain rebellious fold in his necktie,
having been brought into place, the guardian of the Exeter entered
the crowded room, picked a magazine from the shelves and dropped
into his accustomed seat.
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